Coping
by Gitana del Sol
Summary: written for the Quidditch League challenge, round 7, in which Rose Weasley copes with a terrible feud. Score: 9/10


**This was written for round 7 of the Quidditch League Challenge. This round, we had to sink a ship, and I received Ron/Hermione. So I had to break Ron and Hermione up!**

**I chose ****two optional prompts: **counting backwards, "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

**Word Count: 2,224**

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Rose glanced over at the cellular device lying on her bedside table. She was a little embarrassed about having it, to be honest. She was a witch; why would she need a Muggle contraption like a cell phone? But the wizarding means of communications weren't the most efficient, especially when you were twelve and had to follow the house rules laid down by your parents. Disapparating to another city or using the Floo network to visit a friend were great means when you were of age and could do what you want but Rose doubted her parents would be pleased if she travelled by Floo to a friend's house at one o'clock in the morning. Besides, Francesca was a Muggle who didn't know that her neighbours, the Weasleys, were in fact wizards. Owls were definitely out of the question.

She thought about not calling Francesca, of just waiting it out. The voices would die down, they always did, and sleep would claim her eventually. Her parents fought all the time, it was the norm nowadays, and usually the yelling stopped well before 3am. But then the heated voices began to get louder, drifting up into her bedroom, even though the door was closed. There were a lot of threats, her mother's voice rising about three octaves to a shrill shriek of indignation, and cussing – lots of cussing.

"Oh you are so full of bullshit!"

"Stop fuckin' with me, 'Mione!"

Not knowing what else to do, Rose snatched the cell off her nightstand. She punched in the numbers, which she had had memorized for years, and put the phone to her ear. The metal was cool and felt good against her warm skin. Her hands were shaking and her chest was tightening; she focused on the steady ringtone in order to block out the yelling from downstairs. She started up an internal monologue with herself, trying to rationalize the growing worry in her belly away. Mom and Dad fought all the time, so much that it was routine, almost habit now. They never held hands, never kissed, never said "I love you". She couldn't remember a time when things were like that; sure some pictures showed them looking very happy being together but that wasn't in her memory. This was the way things were. It was just grown-up stuff, how things became. It was natural, normal, perfectly fine. This night, like so many others, was normal and would end like any other normal night: Mom crying and Dad mumbling and offering to take the couch. Sometimes he _would _sleep on the couch – that's how you knew things would be bad tomorrow – and sometimes they would go to their bedroom together and close the door. That's it.

Then why was she so much more anxious now?

Rose pressed the small device to her ear as if she could find serenity if she just blocked out the voices long enough. And then the ringtone clipped off midway and a sleepy voice grumbled a greeting.

"Francesca?"

"Yeah…who'd you 'spect?" There was a huge yawn on the other end and a soft rustling of something brushing past the receiver. Immediately Rose felt guilty.

"I'm sorry, you were sleeping. I shouldn't have called so late."

"Nah, it's cool." There was another yawn. "What's up? Are your parents fighting again?"

Francesca was the only child of a divorced couple. Her parents had split up four years ago, when she was nine. Francesca spent most of her time at her mother's house, which sat about two blocks away from where Rose lived, in the Muggle part of the neighbourhood. There Francesca learned to put up with bad cooking, late nights, and various boyfriends coming in and out of her mother's, and by extension her, life. It was the price she paid for a life style of leniency; whereas Rose had a curfew and was expected to perform well in school, Francesca was able to see and talk to who she wanted when she wanted. School was more a place of stability than of education. On long holidays, she would bounce over to her dad's place, which was over on the west coast. Summers were spent adjusting to strictly enforced house rules and having to share with two younger stepsiblings. Rose didn't always get along with Francesca, who had a strong wild streak that made Rose's calmer and more conscientious nature rather anxious. But she knew what it felt like to feel small and powerless, only able to watch your family fall apart, thread by thread, right before your eyes. This was why, two years ago, the summer before Rose left for Hogwarts, she took an immediate need to be Francesca's friend, to bond with her and tuck herself under the older girl's guidance. Francesca knew what it was like to see that and be able to do nothing about it, though you tried and tried and tried to be perfect and make everything alright.

"Yeah…they are downstairs…they are being really loud."

"I'm sorry, honey. Don't worry, it'll blow over soon. They won't fight all night, even grown-ups get tired."

"I know…I just…why do they have to be so loud and angry all the time? I've only been home for three days!"

"Hey, hey," Francesca crooned soothing. "Listen to me, Rosie, it isn't your fault. Okay? It isn't your fault. Some people just aren't meant to be together. Has your dad moved out yet?"

"What do you mean?" Rose asked quickly, suddenly alert. Francesca must have caught her sharp reaction because she proceeded more cautiously.

"Well, the fights will eventually end with one of them packing his bags and leaving. Usually it's the guy. My dad left; packed his stuff one day and walked out, left Mum and me. He came back a few days later but then they started fighting again and eventually he just left for good."

"Dad wouldn't leave." But even to her own ears her remark sounded lame. Why wouldn't he? He and Mum were always fighting. They also bickered and yelled. It didn't matter what Rose did to try and bring back the peace, they just got more angry and annoyed. The more she tried to stand firm in neutrality, the more she felt like they were pushing her to one side or the other. Francesca spent her year bouncing between houses of her two parents; Rose spent her days bouncing between the approval of her parents. She was moody like her dad so this put her on Dad's side but she was a reader, like her mother, so this made her on Mum's side. The more she tried to bring them together, the further away she pushed them, wedging herself right in the middle. To make matters worse, Hugo wanted to part of the tug-of-war; he couldn't wait to get away to Hogwarts. He hated them both equally, which only frustrated Rose because he was the third party trying to walk out, and she only had two hands!

Maybe it wouldn't be Dad at all…maybe it would be her mother. She always seemed to be the one so eager to initiate disagreements.

"Do you think my mum would ever walk out?" her voice was quiet, timid. Her dad was moody, quick to anger, but his track record was to burrow himself in the basement or seek refuge outside; he wouldn't leave his family, not again. But Mum…she was more likely to bottle things up, to seethe quietly from the corner; she went for days with an irritated glare, ignoring and neglecting the offender before exploding, her contents blowing everywhere from the pressure. Then she would run right out the door, suffocating herself with work. When Dad was upset, he hid in the bowels of their home; when Mum was upset, she left far, far away.

"You know, we don't even know if anyone is going to leave! How about we talk about something else? When are you here 'til?"

"Um," Rose shifted on her bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. She knew Francesca was trying to take her mind off of it, trying to make her feel okay. Too bad she would only feel okay when she got out of this hole. "Holiday ends at the end of the week. I leave Monday."

"Aw man, that is when _my_ holiday starts! Okay well, no matter, how 'bout you meet me after school? We can walk over to the library, read and talk. How does that sound?"

Rose eagerly agreed. She loved Francesca for always knowing how to make her feel better. Francesca wasn't a reader and often teased Rose for her love of books. But she wasn't above making a library date when Rose needed it, and she always had a new book and ice cream on hand when things took a rough turn.

"Ugh, why does your school have to be on a different schedule? Too posh for us?" she teased, and Rose giggled in spite of herself.

"Maybe we are. Maybe we are so amazing we need a different holiday in case we just outshine you mundane folks!" Both girls giggled quietly; Rose pressed her lips into the pillow to muffle the sound, though she doubted anyone would notice.

"Hey Fran?"

"Yeah, Rosie?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure thing, baby girl."

"Did your parents-"

She broke off immediately upon the proximity of the voices, and her heart jumped into her throat.

"Gotta go!" She hissed into the phone. "Parents coming up, bye!" Rose clicked, replacing the wireless on her nightstand before diving under the covers, bringing her comforter up to her chin. They were coming up the stairs. She could visualize their position on the steps by the angry _stomp_, _stomp_, _stomp_. Her mom rushing up; her dad storming after her.

"Sure, run, just go ahead and run! Just like you did back then."

"_Stop_ bringing that up! I am not running away. You – _you're_ the one who suggests I go-"

"Oh you are so immature! You never change!"

Rose jumped, startled by a loud _thud_! For a split second, it seemed like the entire world just stopped, too stunned to react. The house was quiet. For a tense three seconds, the house was completely quiet. And without knowing how, without wanting to, Rose knew that things were worse.

"I'll just get my stuff then." That was her father's low grumble. Her mum didn't answer. In fact, Rose couldn't hear even a slight shuffle from her mother. There was a bit of movement from across the hallway: drawers closing, cabinets opening, zippers being pulled and hangers clanging on the floor. Rose's pulse was loud and so hard she could feel her heartbeat through her entire skin. It was like how everything shivered when the bass was blared too loud.

After what felt like an eternity, there was a deep creek from downstairs. It was the front door opening. There was a pause, like someone was waiting in the doorway, glancing up or glancing out or maybe even back. One heartbeat…two heartbeat…three…and then the door closed with a solid thump. All was quiet.

Her mother came to check on her but Rose didn't move. She was paralyzed, unable to move, talk, or feel. Her bedroom door was closed, and she heard the same thing being done next door, Hugo's bedroom. Then one by one, the lights went off in the house and everything fell quiet – eerily, abnormally quiet.

There was a fist wedged in Rose's chest. With effort, she pushed the sheets off and made her way to her bedroom window. It overlooked the driveway and the front of the house. The little light they always left on during the night was off. There was no doubt about it: her dad had left and he wasn't coming back, not tonight. Maybe not ever. Guilt, shame, and pain washed over Rose because she failed. She couldn't hold onto her family. All these emotions, which she had controlled for so long, were bubbling to the surface now like a tsunami, unstoppable and untamable. So she did the one thing she could think of, the one thing that was always there for her and provided some stability. She went to her bookshelf and grabbed one of the children's books that was there, the wizarding fairy tales that her father had given to her for her fourth birthday, because she could not stand doing something so like her mother without incorporating a bit of her father. Sitting on her bed, with the little sprite lamp lit dimly by her shoulder, she clutched her book to her chest, trying to hold on to the storm fuming inside her.

She inhaled: ten, nine, eight, seven…

Exhale: six, five, four, three…

Inhale: two, one, zero…start over at ten, nine…

She continued this pattern of counting down from ten, of breathing in and out, until she once again had a firm hand over her emotions. And then she cracked open the book, waiting for the sun to rise over the horizon. She couldn't change who she was; she couldn't change her family. The only thing to do was to embrace who she was – a witch, a bookworm, a Weasley – and keep surviving.

So Rose cracked open the book and began to read, her knuckles as white as the pages within.

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**My first time ever trying to relate to the child of divorcing parents. Let me know how I did on this. I have never been in this situation, and my closest, longest friends have not been in this situation either so I don't have much experience with it.**


End file.
